


You're Going Down, Tommo

by serendipitee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-27
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 13:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/610494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serendipitee/pseuds/serendipitee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis must be more smashed than Liam thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Going Down, Tommo

Louis must be more smashed than Liam thought.

At least, that’s what Liam assumes, given the fact that right now, the older boy is pressing into his space, worming the pintglass out of his fingers and setting it on the bar, grin vivid and eyes suggesting…something.  He doesn’t know what.

That’s the thing about Louis.  Liam thinks his brain works about five thousand times faster than everyone else’s.  Louis is like a hurricane in everything he does, and Liam is almost always out of his depth when it comes to the Doncaster lad.

What makes it even worse tonight is the fact that Liam’s already so enthralled with reality—they just won a  _Brit_ , for Christ’s sake—and maybe a little more tipsy than is strictly good for his single working kidney.  And Louis is breathing beer breath into his face, hair mussed (not actually styled that way) into imperfection, and saying something that Liam can’t hear over the too-loud music. “What?”

Louis rolls his eyes, slinks closer into Liam’s space and speaks lowly, lips brushing slightly against Liam’s ear. “Dance with me.”  It’s not a question.

Liam doesn’t think he would have said no even if it was one.  He lets Louis pull him onto the dance floor, and the worry that someone might send pictures to the tabloids is quashed by the sight of Rihanna hanging out in the corner.  The boys had nothing to worry about, not when tabloid fodder like RiRi was just lounging around.

The bass is low and reverberates up from the soles of Liam’s feet, thrums in his ribcage, beats along the walls of his lungs.  It’s hard to breathe around Louis, sometimes.  And now the boy is slipping his hands up Liam’s chest, stretching arms around his neck.  His thumbs feed themselves into Liam’s collar, nails sliding against the hairs on the back of his neck and forcing them to attention.

His hips are moving, swinging in time to the music, and he looks up at Liam, one eye closing in a cheeky wink. “Are you just gonna stand and stare or are you gonna dance?”

Liam swallows, hard.  The beat is pressing too heavily, or maybe that’s the mass of people all moving around them, and Liam doesn’t exactly know what to do with his hands, and he feels like he’s back at one of those insipid college dances all over again.  Somehow, he hears Louis’ laugh above all of it, and the older boy pulls him in closer, threading fingers into his hair. “You’re thinking too much.” The words slur, but they make sense. “Just move.”

So he does.  Their hips swirl together, and Liam actually closes his eyes, gets a little bit lost in the feeling of the music buzzing in his head and Louis pressing himself against Liam’s  _everything_.

There’s something pulsing underneath his skin, growling and gnashing its teeth, and Liam doesn’t completely realize what it is until he opens his eyes again.

Louis is right there, and he is staring up at Liam, pupils blown in blue eyes, from underneath coquettish eyelashes as if he were a tease in the slightest.  Liam already knew too much about the boy to think that he could ever  _not_  give in to a good shag.

Liam’s heart kicks up about three thousand miles an hour.   _Liam_  was a good shag.  Or so he’d been told.  It makes so much fucking sense, and Liam wonders why in the hell it would take too many beers and an award to figure that out.

Louis is grinning ruefully up at him, as if he’s thinking the exact same thing, and then hot lips are sucking at his.  Liam gasps into Louis’ open mouth but doesn’t even attempt to pull away.  For once in his entire life, he doesn’t think.  He just kisses Louis back, eyes closing, tongue slipping between Louis’ teeth and grazing a teasing line across the roof of his mouth.

Louis’ fingers, once idle on Liam’s shoulders, dig in to the fabric of Liam’s dress shirt, nails scraping roughly against the skin beneath. “Christ, Payne,” he murmurs, and his chest is moving jerkily against Liam’s, eyes flicking brightly across Liam’s face.

Liam can feel his hand moving; he knows that it’s closing around Louis’ arm, sliding down to his wrist, and he can feel Louis tilting his arm away, jumbling their fingers together, but it isn’t computing.  He must be really, really drunk.  Or Louis is just dizzying enough to make him feel like he is.

“Let’s get out of here.”

There’s an implication in there that Liam’s fully aware of.  But Louis is squeezing his palm, gaze wide and hopeful and absolutely magnetic.  He couldn’t get away from it if he tried.  Louis sinks teeth into his pretty bottom lip; his eyebrows knit together. And, okay, why is Louis worrying?  And why is Liam letting him? “My place?”

Somehow, they manage to escape.  Paul is watchful at the back door, but when Louis points out a falling-over drunk Niall at the bar, they have an out.  A fight begins between a few F-list douches by the front, and so even the club security has to leave, abandoning their posts underneath the neon green exit sign.

Louis yanks him out the back door, and paps are shouting at them, and Paul is going to kill them tomorrow.  Louis starts running down the alley, and Liam stumbles a little but doesn’t fall, feet flying after Louis’.

They skid around the corner like something out of a cartoon, and Louis starts laughing, loud and clear in the London night.  Liam can’t do anything but watch him, feeling a stupid grin grow across his own face.  Louis throws a hand in the air even as he’s jogging down the sidewalk in those ridiculously tight pants.

A cab slides to a stop next to them, and Louis whips Liam around, pushes him into the cab ahead of him.

“Enford and York, please.”  The cabie grutnts in recognition (or maybe it was just a regular grunt), but Liam is really rather too distracted by the feeling of Louis’ lips starting in on his neck to care.  He jerks away on instinct, eyes jumping to the cabbie’s face in the rearview mirror.  No reaction.

Louis smirks at him, and Liam can read exactly what he’s thinking.   _Quit freaking out.  Prude._

Liam swears revenge on him right there.  He can’t institute it right now, of course, because that would be too obvious.  And yeah, maybe he is a little prudish.  Instead, he just lets Louis go back to work on the side of his neck.  Fingers track their way over Liam’s lap, resting teasingly in between his legs before Louis cups a whole hand over the growing bulge in Liam’s pants.

An embarassingly high-pitched squeak leaves Liam’s mouth before he can stop it.  He glares wordlessly at Louis, but the point probably doesn’t come across, considering the dark look in Louis’ eyes.  Liam suddenly remembers that this isn’t just him and Louis anymore—this is him and Louis with a shitload of sexual tension and too much alcohol.  And.  And he  _likes_  it, a far bit too much.

So he threads his fingers into Louis’ messy hair and kisses him, softly, right on the mouth.  Just as a reminder of something, for afterwards.  He wouldn’t be able to tell you what it was if you asked, but he…it just needed being done. 

When he pulls away, Louis is staring back at him in slight confusion.  The tone is changing, Liam can feel it.  Louis takes his hand away from Liam’s crotch, settles it on the back of Liam’s neck and kisses him back, a little more insistently than Liam had.  He takes it slow, though, with plain, open-mouthed touches of lips to lips.

Liam leans into him, breaks their lips away from each other to trail them across his cheek, his jaw, his neck, his skin impossibly soft under Liam’s mouth.  Louis moves his hand into Liam’s hair, cants his stance so that his shoulder isn’t in the way.  He sighs. “Li.”

God, Liam thinks, feeling something unraveling and detangling slowly in his chest.  How long had they wanted this?  How long had he been wishing for something like this to happen?  Most importantly, why didn’t it happen sooner?

The cab rolls to a stop outside of their apartment complex, and Louis throws a tenner lazily to the driver, even though the meter had only clicked up to seven pounds. “Keep the change.”

The driver rolls his eyes. “Thanks.”  He mutters something lowly. “Bloody horny teenagers.”

Liam lets Louis drag him out of the backseat and into the front doors of the building, the pair sending matching smiles to the girl behind the front desk, Katie.  Katie looks tired, but manages a smile and a wave back.  Louis pulls him through into the elevator.

Once inside, though, Liam untangles their hands to plant both of his own on Louis’ hips, pressing the older boy against the back wall and standing right in front of him so that their bodies couldn’t move an inch without brushing against each other.  

Louis looks at him, blue eyes shading over slightly.  He bites at the tip of his tongue. “Guess you found me out, then.”

“I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t kissed me,” Liam admits, feeling out of his depth all over again.  Had Louis really been wanting this and knowing that and not telling him? “What I’m wondering is why you didn’t do it earlier.”

“We’re still going to be friends after this, right?” Louis asked, not answering his question.  He’s not looking at Liam, either.  For some reason, the question makes Liam’s heart sink.

“Of course.”

Louis shifts his eyes back to Liam, and they’re happy enough for Liam to not bother questioning why Louis was acting the way he was. “Good.”  And he’s kissing Liam again.

It catches Liam off-guard, but he kisses back nonetheless.  He comes further into Louis’ space, shifts his hands to the wall behind Louis, pushes him against it. Their hips knock together, and the friction is absolutely heavenly. Louis’ hands scramble up Liam’s chest, pull at the top few buttons, loosen and displace them from their holes.  His fingers curl desperately into the sides of Liam’s open shirt and yank him forward.

Liam grins widely into Louis’ lips. “Someone’s excited.”

“Yeah, well,” Louis breathes back at him.  One hand trickles down Liam’s chest, knuckles grazing against the zipper of his dress pants. “It seems I’m not the only one.”

The elevator doors creak open behind Liam, and Louis moves his hand, slips out of his place between Liam’s arms.  The lad throws a cheeky wink over his shoulder as he leaves.

Liam seethes, but there’s no real heat in it. “Tease.”  He follows him out nonetheless.

The boy walks down the hallway, staring at Louis’ form not three strides ahead of him.  He can feel jitters building in his chest, trembles in his fingers, so he shakes his hands to push them off.  He tries to remind himself that this is just Louis—the same Louis as always before, the one that can make him laugh even when he’s angry, the Louis that is surprisingly good at taking care of everyone when Liam can’t.

That only seems to make it worse.

Louis is leaning against Liam’s front door, the smile on his lips a private, quiet curve, hands stuffed in his pockets.  Liam jingles his keys, looks away from the pry of Louis’ clear blue eyes.  It doesn’t do much to throw Louis off his scent. “You look nervous.”

Liam has to conceed that yeah, maybe this is too much too quick.  He doesn’t say it.  He just glances back to Louis, and the older boy is shrugging. “We don’t have to do this…”

But, no, that’s not what Liam wants.  He doesn’t want this, this…whatever this is to be over. “Nononono—no,” Liam insists, “we do.”

Louis grins up at him, and it’s one of those smiles that makes him look kind of like the sun is shining just for him.  That was the right answer. “You might want to unlock the door, then.” Liam does.

Louis shuffles in first, disappearing slightly in the near-blackness of Liam’s unlit flat, his bleached-white button-down the only thing that Liam can see with the low light coming in from the windows across the living room.  But before Liam can reach for the lightswitch, Louis is knocking into him and making the door slam underneath their weight, mouth pressing hotly against his and hands tugging at Liam’s tucked-in shirt.

Liam wants to think something logical.  He wants to think that he should push Louis away, to tell him to take it slower.  But the only real thought he can formulate as Louis is removing his top is  _I’m glad I undid my cufflinks earlier_.

He can feel his shirt flutter to the floor, but is consistently more preoccupied with the movements of Louis’ lips on his skin than the fact that the lights are off and that he can literally see next to nothing.  Louis is raking fingers down Liam’s back, forcing shivers down the other boy’s spine, and his mouth is tracing its way down Liam’s chest slowly enough for it to be tourture. 

Louis makes it far enough down that he has to drop to his knees.  The sight of it makes Liam’s heart seize in his chest, his breath shuddering to a stop as well when Louis’ hands wrap around the backs of Liam’s thighs.

Louis must have felt it.  He kisses the inside of Liam’s thigh through the fabric of his trousers and says something. “Relax.”  And it sounds like  _It’s going to be okay_  and  _I’m not going to hurt you_  and  _Don’t worry, love_  and a bunch of promises that Liam knows he must just be making up in his hormone-addled brain.  But he believes them.

And it isn’t like Liam’s never gotten a blowjob before, but something about the way Louis’ mouth fits perfectly around him, the way his eyelashes fan darkly across his cheeks when he closes his eyes and  _moans_ , something about how downy his hair is between Liam’s fingers when he (accidentally) yanks at it, that has Liam coming harder and faster than he probably ever has.

More vocally, too, apparently.  When Louis stands back up, wiping come from the corner of his kiss-swollen mouth with the back of his hand, he laughs at the expression on Liam’s face. “Didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth, Payne.”

Liam is still trying to regain his composure, knees locking so that he doesn’t fall over, but that doesn’t stop him from giggling something back. “Could say the same about you.”

That actually makes Louis red, the boy sending a hand to cover his face. “Oh my God,” he mutters, but Liam just wraps an arm around his neck, pulls him in to press his forehead against Liam’s shoulder.  His laughter wisps warmly across Liam’s skin.

When he pulls away, though, the smile isn’t reaching his eyes.  Louis’ gaze flickers away from Liam’s to focus on the door behind him, the grin turning plasticine on his lips. “So…see you tomorrow, then?”

Liam is literally gobsmacked.  He’s just going to  _leave_?  The thought of that makes him ache all over the place, like he’s just run a marathon and won and no one is at the finish line. The words leave his mouth before he can stop them, but he can’t find it in himself to regret them. “You should stay.  I mean, I want you to stay.”

“I don’t know, Li,” Louis whispers, eyes sad and pulled down at the corners. 

Liam catches Louis’ hand in his fingers, tracing his thumb across the back of it. “Stay.”

He stays.

xx

When Louis wakes up in the morning tangled in the clean white sheets of Liam’s bed, Liam isn’t there.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.  His eyes sting harshly, and he bites down hard on the inside of his lip, trying to make himself bleed.   _This is what you get for doing something you shouldn’t have_.  Only this punishment hurts a whole hell of a lot more than any slaps on the wrist in the past have.

A low curse sounds from down the hall, and Louis freezes, trying to stop the onslaught of hope that just started back in on him like a waterfall.  He gets up slowly, creeping down the hall as quietly as he can until he comes to the kitchen.

Sure enough, a boxer-clad Liam stands at the stovetop, sucking his first two fingers with a look of distress on his face.  He catches sight of Louis peering around the doorway and drops his hand from his mouth, lips staying open in a surprised ‘o’. “Uh, I was just.  Um.”

Eggs are sizzling in the pan in front of him, and for some reason, it makes Louis smile so widely his gums hurt. “Making me breakfast?”

Liam’s chocolatey eyes are sheepish.  He shrugs one shoulder, but the upturn of his lips is enough to ruin his attempt at nonchalance. “Yeah.”

“I think I could get used to this,” Louis says, and he grabs Liam’s burned fingers in his hand, kisses them himself.

Liam is staring at him, and Louis knows that this is a turning point, that something big is about to happen. “Could you?”

He pulls Liam close, kisses him against the kitchen counter.  Louis stays in his apartment all day, and they eat the eggs out of the pan, and he wears Liam’s hoodie and screams his name at the urging of his fingers.  He hopes that’s good enough of an answer for him.


End file.
